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by killiansbutt



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killiansbutt/pseuds/killiansbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to change your life in two easy steps: miss your stop on the train and make friends with a screaming toddler's mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt “i’m on the bus and my 2-year-old won’t stop crying, except you just smiled at them and they did” with some alterations.

"Shh, Henry," she murmured, rubbing his back. She walked carefully down the aisle, rubbing her hand up and down his back soothingly, the train rattling along beneath her feet.

It was little after eleven at night, the majority of the train having fallen silent and lapsing into an almost restful slumber as they awaited their next stop. Emma and Henry had been too, till one woman launched into a tirade at her husband on the phone, bringing Henry to a wailing wakefulness that didn't stop. Not even her touch could calm him and when another passenger on the sparsely populated train woke up, Emma had chosen to walk, to see if the movement would quiet him.

No such luck. He still cried, the noise muffled by her shirt where he chose to lay his head. Not even setting him on his feet on the floor next to her appeased him, or his sippy cup of juice, or a fresh diaper, or some fruit snacks from the diaper bag. She hummed under her breath, recalling the beat of his favorite show on the television and his grip tightened on her, his head tilting with interest.She hummed louder, hoping that the small movement meant the tide was turning in her favor.

He let out an ear piercing wail and the train jostled on a turn, swaying more than usual, and her feet slid out from under her. She gasped, clutching him to her chest, the world teetering and shifting around her, the ground rushing up to meet her.

Just barely, she caught the nearest seat, but the awkward near fall brought an awful pain to her ankle as she straightened up. "Shit," she murmured, falling into the nearest seat. Henry’s earsplitting cries drowned out her own thoughts. The train jolted again on a different turn, but Emma, in her seated position, didn't feel it much. 

A row behind her, she heard a thump and a swear. She snorted, covering Henry's ears. He didn't like that, flailing to get her hands away, screaming insults in his baby language. "Whe'e am I?" A man groaned, his voice thick with sleep. 

She spun carefully in her seat, her foot and her son protesting the movement, to see him still sitting on the floor, slumped back against the seat diagonal from her. He was so close she could lean over and tie his shoelaces if she felt like it. 

He rubbed the back of his head, pulling himself into a more dignified position. 

Sitting up, he was much taller than she expected, wearing nearly entirely black clothes from his leather jacket to his scuffed, out of place dress shoes. When he looked up quizzically, no doubt drawn by the sound of her son's cries, she blinked away her surprise at his bright blue eyes and scruff covered jaw.

Everything about him spelled trouble, if she was honest, and attractive though he may be, she didn't need like that in her life.  Everything, that is, until he caught her eyes, his face concerned and almost sheepish as he indicated to Henry. "I'm sorry, did I wake him up?" 

She smiled ruefully. "No, he was already like that. I'm afraid he doesn't like the train much." A lie, most of the time he enjoyed the train, finding a fascination with the racing world out the window and walking down the aisles. Most days, at least. Today had been hell and his tantrum had been among one more thing on a long list of things to make it difficult.

That's motherhood for you.

"Oh." He seemed perplexed by this answer. Sis brows were drawn together like he didn't quite believe it, but didn’t argue otherwise.

"Yup." She considered offering to leave, especially as Henry grabbed her hair, tugging hard on the blonde curls. Just the thought of attempting to walk while the train moved made her wince, imagining the fall that she or Henry would take. She untangled his fingers, rubbing his back again, though it did little help. "Umm, I think the next... car... whatever these are... is open if you want to get back to sleep."

He shook his head, hoisting himself to his feet with one hand very carefully and ungracefully. His other hand hung by his side stiffly and largely unhelpful in his quest. Absently, he took the seat across from her, but she knew it was intentional when his eyes flashed to hers as though asking for permission. "I've slept enough! My schedule will hardly work itself out if I fall asleep early!”

"This is early?" She remarked, arching a brow. 

"Well, no, but I'm not sure what time it is, can't be that late though," he replied with a grin, stretching one arm above his head. Only then did she notice the dark blue cast on his other wrist.

She looked at his face instead, relieved that he didn't notice her revelation. The last thing she wanted to do was be a story for him, the woman with the screaming child and nosy eyes. Both of them were true, but still. "It's after eleven," she supplied helpfully, digging a gummy snack from the wrapper in her pocket. Henry slapped it out of her hand, wailing with outrage. 

The man crouched to grab it till her words registered. He froze, hand outstretched, an odd spluttering noise escaping his throat. Henry lifted his head, quieting as he looked around for the noise. "I'm sorry, it's what time?"

"About eleven-fifteen."

He blinked slowly, finally grabbing the snack. "We passed the train station in Walnut, didn't we?"

"Nearly two hours ago," she answered, raising her brow. Henry continued to stare, jabbering loudly. "Don't tell me you missed your stop."

"Alright, I won't," he said, standing up to toss the gummy snack away, returning again with a sheepish look on his face. Emma and Henry fixed him with an identical stare. He looked between the two and then groaned loudly, slapping one hand over his face and slumping back against his seat dramatically. "Okay, fine, I might have missed my stop."

Henry giggled. The man peeked out from his fingers in surprise while Emma switched her stare to her son. He looked right back at her, gibbering more nonsense, this time at a rather reasonable volume. That is, a yell rather than a scream, but Emma would take what she could get. 

“Well, look at that, it looks like the little lad likes me,” he beamed, scooting to the edge of his seat and making faces at him. In response, Henry laughed again, waving his little fists in the man’s direction. “Hello, lad, what’s your name? And your mum’s?

“Smooth,” she muttered when he peeked up through his lashes at her with a tiny, mischievous grin.

“I thought so. I’m Killian,” he leaned back a fraction, holding his hand out for her. Before she could shift her son to free her other arm, Henry reached out to high five his hand, his smile so wide that it threatened to split his round face. Killian laughed, unable to help himself, holding his hand properly for another smack.

Her son’s joy and the cease of crying after nearly an hour of torture cancelled most of her reservations about giving away her name. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated quietly, smiling, his accent wrapping around her name. She looked away, her cheeks flushing. It wasn’t fair to have a voice like that when it was paired with a face like that, especially when her walls weren’t as high, when she was tired enough to slump back on the bench and take a nap before her own stop now that Henry was relaxing. “And the lad?”

“He’s, uh… He’s Henry.”

“Well, Henry, Emma, it’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she looked down at Henry, who rested his head on her shoulder, content to watch as Killian wiggled his eyebrows at them.

“I think he likes me.”

“Yeah. Do you have kids?” He didn’t look much older than her, probably a few years, maybe old enough to drink, but she was evidence enough that things just happened sometimes. Still, she couldn’t see anything about him that screamed parent, nothing to explain the way he calmed Henry down with just a sound.  

“Nope. My, uh, neighbors have a little lad as well though, I watched him when my brother and I first moved here,” he admitted, sitting back in his seat with a rather pleased grin on his face. “He’s a bit older now, nearly about to start school.”

She smiled. “I guess you’re just a natural.” Unlike Emma herself. Is that why she was a bad parent? All that talent went to literally everyone else? She fought the urge to smack herself, biting her lip hard instead, because she knew it was just the stress talking, that she was doing the best she could as a mother with the hand that fate chose to give her.

As always though, she had to wonder if this was the best for Henry.

“Now I’m no expert on you, but I can recognize a heavy thought when I see one. If it isn’t too presumptuous, I might say that I can, uh, offer an ear if you’re in need.”

Was it that obvious on her face? She had little practice with keeping her face straight, having no reason to put up a front when she spoke to no one except her own boss, a middle-aged woman with little interest in anything except making sure Emma didn’t take off with the priceless books and that Henry kept it quiet.

For good reason too, she reminded herself.

“Thanks, but no, we’re not… we’re not doing this bonding thing,” she said firmly, looking out the window briefly as the train began to slow. She recognized those buildings which meant that she had a reason to leave without being rude.

He opened his mouth a moment, seeming on the verge of words, but only a glimpse at her face had him closing it again. “Of course. I am but a stranger after all. I suppose this is your stop?”

“Yes.”

“Splendid. Is there a pay phone nearby?”

“Do those still exist?” She asked skeptically, despite knowing that there was one down a few blocks away from the station. None inside, for some reason. Perhaps they really were obsolete.  

“I bloody well—Apologies, lad. – I hope so, otherwise I’m going to try my hand at hitchhiking, perhaps my cast will make them sympathetic, aye?” He chuckled, an embarrassed look on his face at the swearing, as though afraid that Henry would repeat it. It was sweet, in a way, more than anybody else had done.

It reminded her that this was the second thing he had done for her. Regardless of whether he did it intentionally or not, he had quieted Henry down, enough that the boy was dozing in her arms, only jostling awake when Emma began to bounce him, trying to keep him awake till they got home.

She could pay him back for the help, in a mediocre way, but it was better than nothing. “There’s one around the corner. I, uh, I can give you a lift, but if you do anything, I’ll break your other hand,” she warned, shifting Henry to her hip, relieved when she stood that her ankle seemed better.

He grinned happily. “Aye, that’s fair.”

She prayed that her judgment was sound.  


	2. Two

Never once did she assume that her passenger seat would be occupied by anyone other than her son in his later years. So it was nothing short of bizarre as Killian clambered into the seat while she contorted her body to buckle Henry in the backseat. “Stay awake for a little while longer, baby, okay? Mommy will get us home soon,” she told him, tickling his feet, smiling as he laughed.

Finally satisfied that he was safe as he could be in the death trap that was her yellow bug, she wiggled herself out, popped the seat back and climbed in, uncomfortably aware of the sight she must have made. _I have nothing to prove to him_ , she thought, just barely catching her from uttering the words aloud as she normally would alone.

With a sigh, she buckled herself up and turned the key. A peaceful melody floated through the speakers, but she quickly changed it over to the soundtrack of Henry’s favorite show. “Sorry for your ears in advance,” she told him, turning up the volume as loud as she could handle before she pulled out of the parking lot.

She began to sing along obnoxiously loud, her voice cracking and falling in some places. Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes staying pointedly on the road ahead of her rather than risking a glance in his direction. Would he think she was nuts? He wasn’t a parent, he didn’t know how difficult it was to get a child back to sleep after they get a catnap, even if it was only a few minutes.

No matter how many times Emma told herself that the opinions of others didn’t matter, she was uncomfortably reminded that a part of her still wanted reassurance. She wanted to know that she was doing the right thing and the sooner she squashed that urge, the one that made her seek validation in the eyes of others, the better off that she would be.

Rather than question what she was doing, he laughed once and asked, “What’s this from?”

“A show about cartoon chipmunk singers,” she said, launching into the chorus of one of the songs as they paused at a red light. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel along with the beat – the song was catchy, she could reluctantly admit - and her gaze flickered briefly over to his without her consent.

She grinned despite herself, enjoying the look of confusion on his face. Cartoons were like another world, it was best not to question the logic in some of them, particularly ones geared towards young children.

“I… will assume that’s normal,” he said after a moment, long after her eyes had returned to the road in front of them.

“It’s his favorite show, he loves the colors and the music and the voices,” she replied. She hesitated, looking over at him again and the honest curiosity on her face had her elaborating more than usual. “And it’s certainly more amusing than what he used to watch. It was awful for me, but informative for him.”

“Aye? He a bit of a couch potato?”

She chewed her lip, looking away as the light finally turned green and she turned the corner, squinting along the road for the pay phone she knew was around here. “Only when I’m trying to do something else. Ah, here it is,” she said happily, spotting the bright blue box and pulling her car to a stop beside it.

Safely stopped, she reached around her seat, poking Henry’s leg and he swatted at her, squealing angrily. She drew back, content to know that he was still awake.

“Thank you for the lift, lass,” he said, unbuckling and climbing out. Before he closed the door, he crouched down, his blue eyes bright and dancing as he locked with hers briefly before switching his gaze to the bit of Henry that he could see. “Till next time, Sir Henry and Lady Emma.”

He closed the door after a final nod as she floundered for a reply. Through the window, she could see him wrestling his wallet out of his tight pants to grab change, shaking his head at himself. Perhaps he couldn’t believe his own ridiculous words any more than she could.

He shoved his wallet back into his pocket, which only served to draw her attention from his words to the figure he cut in those pants.

She turned pink, looking away quickly. Before he put the coins in, she rolled down the passenger window. “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“I believe in fate, of course,” he said easily, turning on his heel to face her. His face broke out into a stupid little grin that she lingered on a moment too long. “And also, we ride the same train so I imagine we’ll run into each other again.”

“Oh.” She paused a beat. “Will you be alright waiting for somebody to pick you up?” Not that there was anything she could do if he wasn’t, not after an exhausting day at work and a tired one-year-old in the backseat, but a part of her couldn’t help asking.

His smile dropped a fraction, a thoughtful furrow to his brow as he contemplated her words. She shifted uncomfortably, waiting for a response, half considering just leaving without hearing one, when he finally spoke again. “I’ll be right as rain, luv. I’m a survivor, you know.”

Emma nodded. “Right. Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you, Killian,” she said, rolling up the window before he could response. That had been enough interaction with other people for one day, she thought, but despite her reservations, she still looked in her side mirror to see him waving at her.

She shook her head when he disappeared from view.

“See, Henry, I can be a people person,” she said to him, peeking over her shoulder briefly. His eyes were heavy-lidded and expression blank, seconds away from succumbing to sleep; she switched the radio up high, singing loudly once more. From the train station to her home wasn’t far – around ten minutes – with most of the time taken up going on strange one way streets till she reached the residential area.

It was an abrupt change, from a barber shop, a convenient store, and a gas station before it turned into little houses clustered together on either side of the street, so close that a single fire would bring down the whole place. Perhaps that was why it was so cheap, according to the people who paid to live there.

Honestly, she didn’t think cheap was the right word. It was too much for her still, even with the money she saved up working in prison and the work she spent at a diner, where the older woman managing the place let her live in a garage with Henry. After the woman’s death, the new owner hadn’t allowed for it and Emma had to trek to somewhere else, hoping that she would be able to find a place for her son, all the while wondering if she was making a mistake in keeping him.

Then Doris Zimmer came along. The woman was no stranger to hard-work and being in over your head, she was a single mother of twins, a boy and a girl, and her biggest hassle was getting the kids to school in the morning and having somebody to watch them when she left for her night shift.

Emma met her in a fluke accident.

Nicholas Zimmer had been playing tag with the other kids and slipped on loose stones, falling straight into a pond that was deeper than it appeared. He was eleven at the time, but the knock to his head hadn’t been productive with staying afloat and Emma had ruined her last pair of clean jeans wadding into the water, a baby on her hip, to drag him out again. Ava had been there to help, taking Henry from her arms so that she could get Nicholas out safely and Doris Zimmer had sprinted, her hair a mess and her face streaked with grease, from her work fifteen minutes later.

The next night, she offered Emma the spare bedroom in exchange for help around the house in the evenings, chaperoning the kids to school in the morning, and help with the groceries whenever she could pitch in. It wasn’t easy, Doris was kind, but she was a mother still and she had scrutinized Emma for the first few weeks, checking in periodically and randomly, till she was satisfied that Emma’s past would stay just there.

It had been nearly a year since then and things were settled into a routine enough that Emma knew, even with her detour to drop Killian off, that she would arrive with enough time to catch Doris before she left for her shift. Only a few minutes later than usual, she pulled into the driveway of a small looking house painted a peeling blue.

She switched the music off, climbed out, and started the process of getting Henry out as the garage door opened, Doris’ car slowly rolling down the drive.

Doris paused the car before she hit the street. “Evening, Emma, bug working alright?”

The only thing that kept her old, dying bug alive was Doris’ skills. It was probably cheaper – and safer - to just let the thing die, but Emma couldn’t quite walk to the train station in time to reach work without it. She chose her battles wisely; she would fight with the bug till she could get something better or relocate to another place.

She had her eye on a two-bedroom apartment only two blocks away from the train station, but hadn’t mustered up the courage to look at it beyond that. Her place with Doris wouldn’t last much longer, not if her rekindling relationship with the kid’s father – she thought his name was Michael - worked out and they relocated to his small town home in Maine.

The Zimmer’s were her family, in a way, and if Doris hadn’t given her a chance, Emma didn’t know if she would have made it this far. It was a nasty thought that she didn’t linger on. The idea of not having Henry in her life filled her with raw agony.

“No, it’s fine, the train was just abnormally busy tonight,” she explained briefly, slinging his diaper bag over one shoulder and then wrestling him out. He didn’t wiggle in her arms for once, leaning his head against her shoulder, hanging onto to wakefulness by a mere thread.

“Alright, call me if there’s any issues.”

They wouldn’t have any issues, but Emma nodded anyway, waiting till Doris disappeared from view before locking the bug and heading inside.

Henry went to bed without any fuss, slumping into the playpen beside her bed and falling asleep within moments, undeterred by Nicholas’ snoring in just the other room. Like her son, she was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

...

“Brother, you do realize the whole point of the train is to save gas,” Liam chided the moment that Killian climbed into the car, sounding tired. Perhaps another person would find it strange to still live with your older brother at twenty-two, but maybe they didn’t experience the same things that the Jones brothers did. Back in England, maybe he wouldn’t still live with Liam, perhaps he would have a job and a girlfriend and a house -- you know, the usual -- but things didn’t always work out as people expected.

He didn’t expect to move to America or expect to see how difficult it was to do some things, like get a job and own a house. As it was, they shared a two-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city that was only just big enough for them. For the moment, things worked for them and other than a little more free time, he wouldn’t change much.

Not even falling asleep on the train and missing his stop if it meant he got to meet Emma and Henry. Sure, it meant they lost some in gas money for Liam to come pick him up, but that was worth it. What was it his brother talked about all the time? Find a silver lining?

“Killian!” Liam said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” He replied absently, thinking of her hair, wondering how it would look in sunlight rather than the harsh, blinding lights of the train or the dim lights of her bug. Would it be golden or more silver? He was leaning towards the former.

Liam snapped his fingers in front of Killian’s face and he jumped, swatting his hand away. His brother laughed. “What has you all lost in thoughts?” He asked, but then he seemed to think the worst and his face fell. “You didn’t lose your job, did you? I thought you liked working there, it’s not the job I expected you to take, but you enjoy working with the flowers!”

He felt a flush go across his face. For all the brothers shared, their romantic entanglements had always been silent, something they only acknowledged to the point of letting the other know they would be gone for the evening. Liam was too preoccupied with his job to really bother at the moment and figured that Killian should be too.

The brothers were different in that regard: Liam chose duty over love, over anything, and Killian figured he could have both. Someday. 

As it was, he didn’t know enough about Emma to even contribute her to that category, but he nonetheless didn’t want to explain her. He could barely understand and he didn’t relish his brother’s response.

He shrugged absently, a lie falling easily off his lips. “I’m just thinking of how much longer until I can get this bloody cast off. Didn’t think it would be so much of a nuisance when I first got it.”

Liam shook his head, suspicious of his answer. “Maybe next time, you’ll be more careful.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of what you think,” he replied, waving off the oncoming lecture that he had heard more often than not since he got the cast a few weeks ago. “I’ll be more careful, I’ll watch both ways before crossing the street, I won’t talk to strangers, and I’ll eat an apple every day, don’t worry so much.”

He rolled his eyes in response and Killian counted it as a victory when Liam didn’t bring it up again. The car ride was silent the rest of the way home, only a jazz station that Liam enjoyed playing softly in the background. He didn’t mind this, it let his mind roam freely, thinking of the exact moment he had seen her on the train.

It was Henry that he heard first, admittedly. The boy had a strong set of lungs on him and he wasn’t afraid to let everyone on the train, perhaps the entire city, know it and that, plus the harsh turn of the train and the awkward angle of his sleep, had sent him straight to the floor. Not a very dignified first meeting, the tips of his ears red and his face warm before he mustered up the courage to sit with them.

She was beautiful. Stressed as well, a little crease to her brows as she tried to quiet the boy down.

He had never looked at someone and thought that he had to know them, but it happened then, the sight of her striking him dumb. How can you come to enjoy someone’s company so much in only a few minutes? It was luck that her stop was the very next one – he would have gotten off the train regardless, knowing it best to stop before he got too deep in the city – and he got to spend a little bit longer in her company.

Her bug was awfully small, his legs cramped into a small space and her singing was just… awful, but it was worth the discomfort to see the brief flashes of joy in her eyes as she thought about her son. Waving goodbye to her was both strange and uplifting at the same moment, as though something had changed since he met her.

 _You’re being obsessive_ , a voice like his brother whispered in his head. He couldn’t help agreeing, there was something a bit – or a lot – strange about thinking of someone like that, like they had somehow shaken your world, when you had only known them for around half an hour.

He sighed, shaking her out of his head. _Right on time too_ , he thought dryly as Liam made a masterful turn into the apartment’s parking lot.  It was an abrupt opening -- no warning on the road before it came up – and lead to a narrow, single way road into the lot. Most people missed the turn, swerved in, and caused a wreck somehow. No surprise.

It was also no surprise that Liam knew when to turn and how to turn to make it in without slowing once, the movement almost instinct. Even Killian, who had lived there the same amount of time as Liam and driven much of the same roads, stepped on the break. More so with his gimpy arm than ever, but that was understandable.

“Fawn over my driving later, I’ve got to get to bed,” Liam said, raising his hand to muffle a yawn as they parked and left the car, heading for the apartment. His brother had just been going to sleep when Killian called him and the reminder of that made Killian wince, feeling like a schoolboy that had bothered his mother in the middle of work.

 _You’re twenty-two, not eleven_ , he reminded himself, but the feeling stayed as it always did.

He only had vague memories of the time that his brother was just his brother, so many more of Liam being his only parental figure. Their mother had died when Killian was just a baby -- she was a faceless stranger to him now -- and their father had left years ago, so long that his voice had faded and only his picture, blurry and faltering, remained for Killian to remember. Liam filled those roles the best he could, taking on all the responsibilities that their distant relatives and harsh school teachers had failed.

It was hard to reconcile the man who scolded him for acting out at school or at home with anyone other than the ideal goal, the person for him to be someday. That someday was now though and Killian was woefully unprepared, so unlike his brother that he couldn’t help feeling two inches tall in comparison.

“I had takeout and the leftovers are in the fridge if you’d rather have that than wrestle with the stove,” his brother said, unlocking their door. One incident nearly a decade ago had marred Killian from ever stepping foot in the kitchen when his brother was around – as though the twenty-two-year-old man would make the same mistakes as the twelve-year-old boy.

He didn’t have the heart to explain to his brother that he was a damn good cook most of the time, mainly because he learned that his brother was an equally good cook. But tonight it felt like one thing too much when he was facing all the inadequacies that normally ate at him silently.

He mumbled a response, not entirely sure what it was he was saying other than an affirmative of sorts, but it didn’t matter. Liam merely nodded and yawned, his own goodnight as muffled as Killian’s reply, before disappearing into his room.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!

**Three**

Few jobs would have let an active, sometimes loud one-year-old come with her to work, but then, none of them were quite like Misthaven.

It was a tiny little shop squished between a sandwich shop and a bakery, the sign hanging from the door proclaiming it to be Misthaven Bookstore with a cheesy slogan right beneath the title. Though bookstores were growing obsolete, it had more business than either the bakery or the sandwich shop beside it. Warm couches, the smell of books and baked goods, comfortable couches – it was the kind of place that people stopped in to hang out for the day, buying books just for simply being there to grab and a warm drink to boot.

It didn't do spectacular, but it did well enough that having one of their workers bring in a child was fine, provided said child was quiet most of the time. That is - all the times, during the times that the boss was around, a severe woman named Regina Mills whose only happiness in life seemed to be in making others as unhappy as herself. Generally, the manager handled keeping Regina off a war path since Mary Margaret Nolan was the only woman that Regina disliked more than Emma herself.

Today was not that day.

Everything she did was wrong in her eyes, from restacking the books to handling customers, from her lunch break to what she fed Henry for his lunch. She was well-used to people disapproving of her – they had been doing so since she was a child after all – but that was when she could fight back. When she could punch back and show them who she really was.

At work though? No, she couldn't do anything except take the verbal barrage, playing meek and nodding her head. Her temper flared under each reprimand, growing more and more. It nearly broke when Regina refused to leave till it was time for Emma to lock up, her distrustful eyes watching as though afraid Emma would have a criminal relapse right in front of her.

It was sweet relief to escape work, even if her shoulder ached from the weight of Henry's diaper bag and his comforting weight was just a little heavier than she remembered. Even the trek to the train station didn't bother her, her tiredness from a long day of work overridden by the rage of being second-guessed on everything.

"Who did she think she was?" She asked Henry when she could stay silent no longer. He looked at her blankly at her for a moment before he began to babble, waving arms and a little scowl on his face, airing the frustration that Emma herself couldn't. She laughed, feeling a little better after his defense, and kissed the side of his head as a reward.

He jabbered a few minutes more, swinging his arms around, before she patted his back to calm him down as they approached the train station. It wasn't busy, only a few people lingering at this stop, but she didn't expect the inside would be the same at this hour.

She moved along to the closest pillar, setting the diaper bag at her feet and maneuvering Henry to her other side. He complained, but rested his head on her shoulder when she stopped shuffling around, content to fist his hand into the collar of her shirt.

"We'll be home soon, baby. No work tomorrow either, we'll go to the park," she said to him in a low voice, stroking his back.

His weight was a comfort now that she wasn't walking, reminding her that despite how difficult it was to bite her tongue and how she still stung from the barbs, they were all insignificant compared to having him. Loving Henry was worth every comment.

Someday she wouldn't need to deal with one to have the other.

"You'll grow up to be big, strong, and better than either of your parents, kid." She opened her mouth to say more when the train's arrival caught her attention.

She straightened, hefting the diaper bag over her shoulder again with a groan, and boarded with the small crowd. The lights were low for the night and she watched her steps carefully as she climbed inside, looking for the least occupied cabin.

Her pep talk faded rapidly in the blur of annoyed faces that looked at her when they spotted Henry on her hip. It was as though a sign proclaiming them to be troublemakers followed them around with a giant, flashing arrow and she scowled, slumping ungracefully to a seat the furthest from people.

Some of them had kids of their own, which was probably the part that annoyed her the most.

She set the diaper bag on the floor and set Henry on the seat beside her, where he wiggled onto his knees and crawled over to the window, palms and nose pressed against the glass. Biting her lip, she held her arm out as the train began to move. _He's not going to fall, stop coddling him_ , she scolded herself, scooting closer to him anyway.

"See something, Henry?" She asked quietly, aware that other than the humming of the air and the mechanical whirl of the train, she was the only one speaking. He slapped the window twice before she caught his hand. "No, Henry, we have to be quiet. See, everyone is sleeping, we have to be shh, okay?" She held her finger to her lip as an example and he stared at her with a little frown on his face before he mimicked her.

She moved back to her seat as he slumped down into his own, propping her feet up on the seat across from her. He rolled onto his knees again and she tensed, drawing her legs back, but needn't have bothered as he crawled into her lap, knees digging into her stomach. He squeezed her shirt for leverage, drawing himself up, feet now pressed hard into her thighs.

She winced, settling her hands on either side of him as his hands landed on her cheeks, patting them hard. His lips stretched into a toothy smile, pleased when she scrunched her face at him.

"Kiss?" She asked, poking out her lips. He pressed a slobbery kiss against her chin, missing her mouth entirely, and Emma couldn't help laughing, kissing his forehead. Her favorite moments were when he showed her affection, when he was content to curl up in her lap and just be held – and perhaps it was wrong to let him cling as much as he did, but she couldn't find it in her to complain. She never felt as proud as when he was letting her hold him.

She settled back against her seat, adjusting him in her lap until he was facing away from her, his head leaning against her breast. She locked her hands in front of his stomach and he settled his on top of hers, his brown eyes fluttering till they closed. Shifting her gaze out the window, Emma allowed herself to rest, shifting her hand to hold his and dropping a kiss on his hair.

She didn't fall asleep, not completely, but she did relax into the seat, comfortable and warm, eyes not closing yet not seeing what was in front of her either very much. It was the kind of state where a little movement out of the usual would jostle her awake.

Like say Henry slipping out of her grip not even half an hour later.

She blinked the daze away, drawing herself awake, squinting down at her son.

His feet landed on the floor with a thump, babbling quietly as he tried to slip stealthily away, unaware that his mother had woken. Clever boy, she thought when he didn't make a sound, trying to walk around her legs. Nonetheless, she propped one of her legs on the seat once more, blocking his escape.

"Henry," she warned.

He scowled at her, pushing against her leg, crying nonsense at her as an argument, voice rising with each syllable until he was near shouting.

She flicked his cheek, frowning at him when his shouts turned to loud cries. "No," she said, trying for stern, but a tear streamed down his face and she crumpled, dropping her feet and straightening, unable to resist her little boy making that sad face at her.

In an instant, she realized her mistake.

He made a run for it, darting away from her and down the narrow aisle, his cries still loud, but calming now that he was face to face with freedom. Stunned, she didn't move for a second, until she saw him teeter on his feet, catching an empty seat, and she shot up from her seat, fear rising in her chest. "Henry! Come back here right now!"

He looked over his shoulder at her, scrunched his nose, and ran again.

For being little, he was quick, darting around the legs people bent into the aisle with ease, giggling loudly as he went. She followed him, bumping into knees and stumbling against seats, tripping over her own feet just to get closer. He might have been fast, but he was still small – smaller than her, at least – and her legs were longer.

Despite knowing that she would catch him, her heart beat frantically in her chest.

He got no farther than the end of the aisle before she caught him, hands catching the back of his shirt and his elbow, tugging him back to her. She wrapped her arm around his waist, heaving him up and into her arms despite his wailing protest at the manhandling. "No, Henry," she snapped, trying to spin him in her arms to face her, but he wiggled away, his screams loud in her ear.

Her eyes darted up when she heard mumbled complaints, a hot flush creeping across her cheeks as people stared at her. The disapproval across their face served to make her feel like a naughty child doing wrong. "Sorry," she muttered, shifting him around and striding back to their seat, not lingering as she hefted the diaper bag over her shoulder.

Hopefully somewhere else would be emptier.

Henry strained to get out of her arms.

"Henry, stop!"

He didn't, twisting in the same direction as the diaper bag, and she grunted, arms aching from the sudden onslaught of weight. Her eyes burned as much as her cheeks. Not from pain, though that ached fiercely too, but from the aching inadequacy she felt the more he tried to scramble away. Eyes were on her back and she heard words, ones that were too muffled by his cries to be heard and yet her brain supplied them anyway.

" _Bad mother."_

She cleared her throat, a lump there growing larger despite her wishes. Henry climbed out of her grasp, climbing over to the window and pressing his face against it again, his excited breaths fogging up the glass. She let him, needing a minute. Or an hour. Or a day.

Or just to be at home, free from the judgment of others.

Would it always be that way? Positive that her decision was the right one and then crushed under her own doubt nary a moment later?

Their opinions didn't matter to her, but nonetheless they hurt, poking at sores that Emma thought were better off ignored and forgotten.

She tried to do just that and blew out a breath very slowly, staring at Henry's reflection in the window for another reminder. He looked like Neal already, she could hardly find a trace of herself in him except, perhaps, in the curve of his chin. She wondered then, as she always did, if the slope of his nose and small ears came from somebody else.

Perhaps her family.

Perhaps Neal's.

And Henry would never get to know which it was.

He wasn't an orphan, but was just a mother much better? Especially someone who didn't know how to be one?

She sighed loudly, dropping her face into her hands, fingers pressing harshly against her forehead. "God, do you ever stop?" She said aloud, biting her tongue. It did little to chase the negative thoughts away – it seemed she was built to be a pessimist – but it did let her focus on something else.

Namely, not biting her own tongue off when the train decided just then to jerk to a stop.

"Oof!"

Emma looked up to see a familiar mess of dark hair flail and fall, thumping face first into the floor in front of her. He made a noise, a grunt or a groan, but continued laying there. "Killian?" She said dumbly, drawing her foot back, afraid she would kick him on accident.

He rolled onto his back at her voice, a self-conscious smile on his face and the tip of his ears red. "Emma. Henry. Good night for it, aye?"

"Good night for what?" She asked, bewildered. Henry settled onto the seat, peering down at the floor with wide, curious eyes.

Killian still looked a little red, but he took a breath and composed himself enough to reply. "Taking a kip on the floor of a train, of course. Quite comfortable, you should join me," he said with an air of fake casualty. Like this was an ordinary thing for him.

Perhaps it was, but not this instance.

"No thanks. Do you really think that's clean?" She asked, keeping a firm hold on Henry in case he tried to join Killian on the floor. It wasn't dirty from what she could tell, but it proved a point nonetheless.

He hummed thoughtfully, brow furrowing. "Fair point, I concede this round to you."

"I think I'm winning whatever game you're playing," she pointed out. "Are you alright?"

Killian shuffled awkwardly to get to his feet, an embarrassed sort of expression on his face once he was standing again. His back was to her, brushing himself off as he spoke. "Aye, I'm fine, thank you. Not the way I intended to say hello, but at least it's a memorable second meeting." Then he turned to face her, a grin on his face. "I guess I'm making it a habit of falling at your feet, clearly you were royalty in another life."

She ignored the quip, frowning. "Wait, were you coming to talk to me?"

His smile dropped a fraction, worry filling them, and he sank into the seat across from her. "Would saying yes end badly?"

Emma thought about it, but didn't feel fear or annoyance sprouting up in the wake of his words. Rather, she felt her cheeks warm and a small smile to pull at her lips. A far cry from their previous interaction, though she didn't know the difference between the one before and the one now. "No."

His eyes brightened. "Then yes. I didn't expect the bloody – sorry, Henry – train to lose its nerve. I think it's conspiring to keep us apart."

"Actually, if the train was in better condition, we wouldn't have met and you would have wound up on the other side of town. Remember, we only met because you fell over?"

"Then why did it decide to keep us apart now? I'm getting mixed signals here, lass," he said, lips twitching.

"Because it's a train and it doesn't have any ulterior motives?"

"Oh, Emma, don't you believe in fate? This train is the tool of destiny; it's going to take us somewhere… Perhaps Hogwarts, I wouldn't mind seeing that."

"Or home, where it's actually going to take us." She bit her lip, wondering if this would be considered flirting. Or worse, was it rude and off-putting? Despite her reservation of interacting with people, the part of her that still craved other people enjoyed the thought of having a train buddy. Somebody else in the world to know who she and Henry were.

And she couldn't deny that Killian made her want to smile. Just a little.

Killian laughed, not at all annoyed by her words if the look of happiness on his face said anything. "Not a fan of Harry Potter?" He asked, smiling softly at Henry, who stared at him with curiosity. Killian was a familiar face to him, but not one that he could place yet.

"No, I am, but if I learned anything from that books, it's that prophecies end badly for all involved. Prophecies are fate, aren't they?" She asked as Henry climbed down again, toddling over to Killian with a wide smile on his face. Clearly, her son remembered him and she bit her lip as Henry's little fingers reached for him.

Killian held out his hand for a high five, but he was pointedly ignored as Henry reached for his thumb instead. "Hello lad, you're certainly a little runner today, aren't you?"

Emma blushed. "You saw that?" How embarrassing.

"Not at first – I was possibly asleep – but I heard people muttering and then I saw you. I tried to call your name, but you were understandably distracted," he said softly. "Is he normally a handful?"

Embarrassment forgotten, she stiffened, her eyes going icy as she imagined judgment in his voice "I'm perfectly capable of handling him, thank you."

He held out his free hand. "Apologies, I didn't mean to imply that you weren't. I was… just curious about whether this normally happened, I… I think most kids do it, I've seen ones older than him running amok, but you seem surprised—but never mind." His words trailed off into a quiet mumble and he didn't meet her eyes.

Not because his words were a lie, but from worry. Worry at offending _her_.

Emma sighed, feeling guilty for assuming the inquiry an insult rather than curiosity. Another firm reminder that she was more of a pessimist than she cared to admit. "Sorry. I, uh, he's normally well-behaved, but he's ready for some time to run around and just play. He hasn't done that in a while, you know? I mean, we do at home and stuff, but I can't let him do that at work and I work a lot so there isn't a lot of time to be at home."

Killian thought before he replied, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I imagine little boys like to run around and play in dirt and do all the things that are inappropriate for work. Excited to go to the park, lad?" He asked, extracting his thumb from Henry's grip.

Henry shot him a glower in response. Emma snorted.

"He definitely takes after you," Killian remarked calmly, a hitch in his breath before he added to the end casually. "Or does he get that from his dad as well?"

"No. Or I hope not, but if that's the only thing he gets from his dad then I'll be relieved," she said bitterly, the wound too fresh even after two years for her to take the high road. Maybe when Henry was older, when he began asking about who his father was, she could tell him about the parts of Neal that were worth knowing without the worst pieces biting at her heels.

And it occurred to her then that she had no idea of what to tell him when the time came that he asked for his father. The truth? He abandoned her – he abandoned _them_ – without a second glance and Emma was paying the consequences of his decision every day. Yes, _that_ would go over well with her young son. Even if it didn't scar him for life, she didn't want him to think that he was a mistake. She never wanted him to doubt that everything she did – good and bad – was to be a good mother for him. For him to be happy, and safe, and loved.

The circumstances weren't ideal – she didn't have a permanent home, she barely had a job – but there was never a question about loving him. No, if anything, she wondered more if she was doing the right thing for him. Was it right to commit him to a life of wondering when the other shoe would drop, when they would lose their home or their livelihood - when they would lose each other?

Theirs lives were on the edge of a knife every day, an abyss on one side and a solid road on the other, and she feared the day that pushed them to the former. She thought rock bottom was a prison cell and a pregnancy test, but with opened eyes and a life depending on her, Emma wondered if it could get worse.

"I'm sorry."

She frowned, confused by the concern in his voice. "For what?"

"Bringing up bad memories?"

"Oh. It's not… Well, most things bring those up so don't worry about it. I can deal with it," she replied, forcing a smile and holding her hands out for Henry as he approached. His hands were cold and her fingers twitched in his grip, but she didn't protest as he stepped between her legs, leaning his head on her knee. "Hi, baby."

"Mm," he mumbled in response, squeezing her fingers.

"Sleepy boy now that you're done running, huh?" Emma lifted him into her lap, letting him slump against her. His eyes were wide, but she knew they were threatening to droop, the look too blank to be someone awake. She waited till they started to close, thankful that Killian had chosen to stay silent as well, before she said anything else. "How'd you break your hand?"

In hindsight, it was a blunt question and perhaps not said in her friendliest voice so she wasn't surprised when he stiffened and hardness seeped into his previously open eyes. They were blue still, but dark and stormy, the kind of look someone held when they were thinking of something unpleasant. She winced, mentally chastising herself and preparing an apology, when the tension leaked from him.

"Car accident. Not pleasant to think about, I apologize."

"No need, I get it. Uh, well, I mean, I don't understand that exactly, but I know bad memories."

Her babbling brought a smile to his face again, but it was small. "Aye, I suppose we're equals in that regard. Some memories shouldn't be thought about and yet we can stop thinking about them anyway. Or perhaps that's me and I'm being presumptuous in assuming that yours follows you as much as my own."

"It's not just you."

"This may sound bad, forgive me, but I'm relieved to hear that," he admitted.

Everybody likes to know they aren't alone, she thought in agreement, but otherwise didn't reply.

They fell into silence, one that was calm and comfortable despite the weight of what was hanging over them. Far more than she expected to be in the presence of a strange. Maybe acquaintance was a little more flattering though because he didn't feel like a stranger. Part of the reason she rejected him before was the familiarity of him, after all, but she rejected those thoughts.

The movement of the train usually soothed her and left her at the risk of falling asleep, but today she couldn't quite feel the same, caught between wanting to speak and be spoken to - and wanting to continue with the silence lest she ruin the moment of understanding that stretched between them.

The speakers crackled above their head, announcing that the next stop was coming up in five minutes and Killian shifted, sighing. He broke the spell before she could ask what was wrong. "Not to be rude, but I'm rather relieved that Henry chose to make a jail break," he said, grinning.

Emma didn't flinch at the word of jail as she usually would. A small victory. "Enjoy watching me make a fool of myself?"

"If that was the case, I wouldn't have a very boring life – you're not capable of looking foolish." She blushed and she didn't miss the way his lips twitched wider. "But, no, I meant because he woke me up and I would have missed my stop again otherwise." His words were nonchalant, but once more, his ears gave him away, pinker than they were a moment ago.

Emma laughed. "Again?"

Her laughter seemed to delight him, the sheepishness fading rapidly. "What can I say? The train can't stand to let me go."

"Your modesty astounds me," she said dryly, shifting in her seat as he stared at her. Henry's weight made her legs ache, but worse was his hair, beginning to stick to her collar where his head lay. She felt sweaty and gross, but knew there was little she could do about it now.

Killian stood, stretching as though he had been sitting for quite a while rather than twenty minutes. "As it does myself. Alas, I must depart at this port."

"Aren't ports only for water?" She asked skeptically.

"Air _ports_?"

She didn't think that would stand up in a court of law, but she conceded the point nonetheless. "Is this your stop then?"

"Aye, this is me. Like I said, I'm grateful that Henry woke me up, even if you were perhaps not enjoying chasing him down," he said, flashing her a smile, holding onto the seat as the train began to slow, eventually coming to a stop. Other passengers began to disembark, but Killian hesitated, standing near them still, rocking on his heels. Finally, he said seriously, "Thanks for the company."

"You're welcome," she said, sincerely, finding that it wasn't at all a hardship to talk with him. Strange, yes, she didn't much talk with anyone that wasn't living with her, but also not. She might have even… liked it.

She definitely didn't want it to end, not when his presence had chased away the afternoon's troubles.

He smiled once before turning to leave.

She had a sudden image of never seeing him again, his back to her as he continued on with life, perhaps only remembering her a little or perhaps not at all. Unable to stop herself, Emma blurted out: "Hey, Killian!"

"Yes?"

"If… I mean, next time we're on the same train, I could… I could wake you up when we get to your stop so you don't miss it?" She suggested, feeling stupid, but forcing herself to maintain eye contact. If he said no, there wasn't any harm done and she would feel better for trying. Maybe.

"I'd like that." He left before the train could close the doors and trap him inside, leaving her no time to respond. She sat back against her seat, letting out a breath, her cheeks warm, and tried not to second-guess herself the rest of the ride home.


	4. Four

** Four **

His silence would have been disconcerting to anyone else, but she thought she knew him well enough to detect what the different facial expressions on his face were. The crease to his brow told her he was in deep thought, but the way he mouthed words told her that it wasn’t anything unpleasant. No doubt he was debating what his next question would be.

If somebody had told her a few weeks ago that she was actually enjoying her time on the train then she would think they were foolishly mistaken, but then most of them hadn’t spent time with Killian Jones. Their time together was brief – from the time she got on till his stop, they only had around an hour and a half together, unless the train decided to mess up as it so frequently did – but it was already a routine that Emma thoroughly enjoyed.

She hadn’t yet forgotten the first time she knowingly took a seat across from him. Her own face was red, both from the galling wind as a storm blew through the city and also from the knowledge that she was actively seeking him out, as she took a seat across from him, realizing belatedly that he was asleep. Henry squeaked and Killian shot up, eyes wide, till he realized it was them and then he smiled, somewhat sleepily.

She had wanted to apologize, but all she did was laugh as she spotted the red splotch on his face from where his face had been leaning on his hand.

“What’s your favorite color of the sunset?”

His voice broke her from the memory. For the last few weeks, they had spent a majority of the time asking questions back and forth or playing a game with Henry. Only once they had fallen into a lull in conversation after a too deep question – her fault, really, when the question of where he used to live was turned back on her– and since then, they hadn’t moved away from mundane things.

Thankfully. She might have been receptive to a friendship, but a still too big part of her held tight to her secrets and her past. All the better, really, since their friendship was one of convenience, even if that made her heart ache more than it should. Friends was such a foreign concept that she hardly knew the difference.

“Umm…” Emma bit her lip, thinking about the last time she had really looked at a sunset. They had come and gone so often, so meaninglessly too, that she hadn’t paid much attention to them. Even a glance out the window offered little help, the sky dark and twinkling instead. “The reds and purples, I think.”

“Think?” He prodded gently, his voice quiet. Henry had fallen asleep sometime back, sprawled across the seats opposite them. Emma had relocated to sit beside Killian just ten minutes prior. Being so close to him was both a curse and a pleasure. His shoulder often bumped into hers on turns, a pleasant warmth flooding her every time he smiled apologetically, but they could whisper, their voices not waking Henry. Not that whispering helped much, bringing their faces close together, leaving Emma flustered and thrilled in equal measure.

“I don’t really spend much time watching the sky,” she answered honestly. Her feet had always been firmly lodged in the ground, perhaps unwillingly so, and Emma didn’t much look at the sky when so often things would pull her back down. Because he looked too serious at her reply, she nudged his shoulder. “What about you?”

 He answered immediately. “The blue.”

“Why?”

“The darker blue, I should say, the one that could be a dark purple as well. It’s when you see just a glint of the sun, but all the other stars are beginning to show,” he said fondly, eyes flickering briefly to the window. A few stars poked through the pollution of the lights. When his gaze returned to her, his eyes were soft. “It’s like you’re standing between two worlds for a few minutes and everything else just… falls away. Little things don’t really matter anymore.”

“That sounds nice,” she said, feeling wholly inadequate at replying to something that sounded deep and personal.

Killian understood though, smiling gently. He tilted his head as something occurred to him. “Liam doesn’t understand entirely when I explain it to him. I don’t think he understands anything I do though.”

She should end the subject there. Gently, of course, she had no wish to trample over his thoughts and feelings, even if they were getting into territory that was dangerous. Instead, she said hesitantly, “Why do you say that?”

Uncomfortable, he scratched behind his ear. “My brother has been my guardian since I was around eight and I suspect he expected me to turn out differently than I have.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she noted, studying him. “But I don’t think any of us turn out how our parents – or guardians – suspect.” Not that she would know from experience, her own parents were as nameless and faceless as any other stranger. For all she knew, they lived in a different country now or had more kids or were in prison or were dead. No matter where they were, they didn’t much care how she turned out.

If she thought about it, Emma thought they probably hadn’t intended for her to turn out to be anything. How else could they justify dropping a newborn off on the side of the road just hours after her birth?

Killian snorted. “You’re right, I don’t think our biological bastard expected Liam to turn out the way he has. He’s a good man – my brother, that is. Not my father.” Nothing about his words suggested it, but Emma caught his lack of mention in the thought. Like only his brother was worthy of the recognition, the only one who succeeded.

She frowned, biting her tongue as she thought of how to reply, but held back as she saw the dark look on his face. Intense, angry – his eyes faraway as a distant memory tugged on him. _Like a cloud passing over the sun,_ Emma thought, watching him. She turned her head away, checking on Henry briefly, giving him the space to wrestle it back, not wanting to witness a pain that wasn’t hers to watch.

When she chanced a look back, he was rubbing his eyes. Not from tears, as she initially feared, but from a weariness that hadn’t been so apparent until then. As though the fight had taken more out of him than it should.

Guilty flooded her. “You should sleep before you get to your stop, we still have another twenty minutes,” she said, estimating the time.

Killian blinked, shaking his head. Though he was tired, the space beneath his eyes purple and his eyelids heavy, when he smiled, it was as though the rest of that wasn’t there. “I’ll be fine, lass. No need to waste a few valuable minutes on shut eye.”

Her stomach didn’t flutter at all. Or maybe it did, but it wasn’t with butterflies, she wasn’t so easily swayed by the implication in words. She blamed it on the shifting of the train as it beat along the tracks, not at all on the way he looked at her or the way he spoke of her. As though the last few minutes had faded away for him at the reminder of her presence.

_You’re reading way too much into this, Emma._

“It’s not like this is the last time you’ll see me,” she pointed out seriously. “We’ll see each other two days from now.” They both had a day off, her tomorrow and the day after, him just tomorrow, and as such it meant two days of not seeing each after nearly three weeks of seeing each other just about every day.

He threw an arm over his eyes, nearly giving himself a concussion with his cast. “Two days is too long, how shall I cope?” he said, trying for dramatic, but falling short when a yawn cut off his words and cracked his jaw.

“You’re a needy friend,” she scolded, nudging his shoulder. It was somewhat relieving to be back to banter rather than a topic that was too deep and too heavy and… too much everything really.  “Now go to sleep.”

Killian cocked a brow. “Will you rock me to sleep like you do Henry if I refuse?”

“No, but I can hit you, if that’ll help?”

“Positive that’s abuse.”

“You’re not my kid,” she said, shrugging. Technically, it would be assault.

“Thank the gods for that.”

She didn’t know if that was an insult to her parenting or an unintended declaration of his feelings so she scrunched her nose at him, staring him down, till he surrendered with a loud sigh. Both their gazes flickered to Henry realizing that they hadn’t been very quiet, but he snoozed on, laying on his stomach, his blanket scrunched beneath his head like a pillow.

“Fine, you win, remind me to unleash you upon unruly customers with a look like that, you’ll frighten them right into submission,” he said, much quieter, edging away from her to lean heavily against the window. Emma stood to give him room, about to suggest that he prop his legs up and lean his back against the window rather than his shoulder, which looked awfully uncomfortable, when he shook his head. “Where are you going?”

“Sit next to Henry,” she said, confused.

“You’ll either wake him up trying to move him.” She scoffed; he clearly underestimated her ability to move him without waking him. No need to tell him that it was often a case of luck. “--or you’ll have to sit half off the seat. Just stay here, it doesn’t bother me.”

Emma shook her head, still standing. Her hand rested on the seat, not wishing to slip on the train anymore this year than she already had – especially not in front of him. Not that it would matter as his eyes started to drift closed. “That’s not very comfortable looking.”

“Actually, I’m quite used to it.”

“You’re also used to falling over when the train turns, that doesn’t mean it’s good for you.” She lowered her voice, wondering if he could fall asleep before he finished this conversation.

Killian thought about this for a moment. “Don’t you think laying on my back would make me more likely to fall?”

“True.” She didn’t sit still, shifting on her feet. There was something very different between sitting next to a friend while you talked to them and sitting next to them as they slept. It was almost... Well, she thought it was more intimate than it should be, which was ridiculous when she put it into thought, but…

It took trust to sleep next to someone and maybe that was the part that befuddled her. 

“I’ve slept in worse places – and on a train next to a friend doesn’t make it close to the top twenty on that list,” he said gently, one of his eyes opening to squint at her.

She nodded slowly and he opened his other eye, watching her, till she sat down beside him once more.

He fell asleep within seconds, snoring lightly a few minutes later, his expression smoothed out and almost innocent, mouth falling open as he breathed. Across from them, Henry snorted in his sleep, shifting his hands, and she pressed her fingers against her lips to hold back her laughter.

They weren’t related at all, but one wouldn’t be able to tell from the mirrored looks on their sleeping faces, straight down to the small furrow that appeared in their brows as something happened in their dreams.

Her head fell back against the seat, sighing quietly as she rested her hands across her stomach. Despite the slight chill to the air still, his warmth right beside her was like a personal space heater and she found herself fighting the urge to close her own eyes with them.

She lost that battle, the sound of their snores and the hum of the train lulling her to sleep.

…

When Killian woke, it was to an unexpected weight on one shoulder and something hard against another, leaving him squished between the two. He didn’t know what either of them were, his brain too foggy from his nap to make sense of where he was – or even who he was for a brief moment till his sleepy mind recalled that he was still Killian Jones and sleep hadn’t changed that.

The thing on his shoulder smelled nice, a perfume of sorts wafting up to his nose that smelled of flowers, and he inhaled, tilting his head towards the scent, hair brushing his cheek.

It was a person.

He frowned, forcing his eyes open one at a time.

Emma leaned heavily on her shoulder, her face scrunched. Even in sleep, her thoughts were too much to give her some peace and he fought the urge to stroke her cheek, as though his touch would somehow ease the tension that wrinkled her brow, but he held back. He didn’t know what had happened in her life that kept her from fully relaxing even in sleep, but it was, perhaps, the same thing that kept their friendship at arm’s length.

He sighed, shifting his weight to check the time on his watch and blanched. _Bloody hell_ , he thought, biting his tongue to keep from saying the thought aloud, chancing a glance over at the still snoozing Henry. Not that it would last, Emma would surely wake him up once she realized how late they slept, but nonetheless, he wanted to warn her first.

After all, her stop was coming up in the next few minutes.

“Emma,” he whispered, leaning close to her.

Emma mumbled, pressing herself more firmly against his shoulder, so close to him that she would only need to wiggle a little bit to be sitting in his lap. He shifted away some, figuring that would only freak her out and he had no wish to force her away. Her presence had been a comfort in these weeks as his schedule worsened, nearly the same feeling he felt around his brother, but also… not.

She brought him peace.

“Emma,” he said firmly.

She jolted up, narrowly avoiding a head collision that would have made him see stars, the sleepiness gone from her entirely, as though she hadn’t ever been napping at all. Her eyes flashed first to Henry, the sight of him easing her tense shoulders down, and then to him, looking confused. “Killian? Wha--? Oh, shit. I fell asleep didn’t I? What time is it?”

The train announced her stop. It was a better answer than anything he could say.

Her face paled, color fading, then a scarlet blush bloomed on her cheeks. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry, we missed your stop, didn’t we?”

“Aye,” he admitted.

“Umm, well,” she said as the train jolted to a stop. Emma climbed to her feet, zipping the diaper bag and drawing it over her shoulder; there was a lull where nothing happened, she stared at him and he stared at her, then a hiss as the doors opened on the floor below them. She lifted Henry up carefully, resting him on her hip, his head resting on her shoulder as he snoozed away. “I can give you a lift to the pay phone again, it’s the least I can do for… falling asleep on the job.”

Killian stood as well, gesturing for her to lead the way and then following behind her. “I shall accept on the condition that you don’t worry about sleeping. I, for one, feel like we’ve made a record of it. Not many people can say they fought the lull of sleep on a train as long as yourself.”

“I could do better than that,” she argued, looking over shoulder.

“Perhaps. I suppose you’ll have to break the record then and really prove your point.” Killian walked around her with his longer legs, arm held over the door to keep it open until she stepped onto the platform beside him.

“That depends, do we count from the time I last slept on a train or from the time I met you till now?”

“The latter,” he replied.

“What?”

“The last one.”  

“Oh. Well, umm, I guess that would be two weeks?”

“We’ve known each other for nearly four weeks.”

“But we’ve only been sitting together for almost three,” she pointed out. “And we’ve both had differing days off since then, you’ve had two days off and I’ve had four days off so that’s six days of not seeing each other at all.”

“Ah, you’re correct, I’d forgotten about those days off.” They hadn’t felt like days off, if he wasn’t working in the city then he was doing something in the town or on the docks, and the only thing that made them different was the lack of Emma’s voice. Other things as well, he mused, reminding himself to be less besotted with the woman. He said, “So you need to get fifteen days. Then I’ll be impressed.”

“That sounds a lot like a challenge, Jones,” Emma said lightly, stopping before they entered the parking lot. “Here, hold Henry for me.”

It wasn’t the first time he had held Henry, but it was the first time he had done so while standing up. Killian took a long moment figuring out how to hold him comfortably and securely before he said anything else. Meanwhile, she dug around in the diaper, trying to find her car keys, no doubt buried under all the necessities for young children.

“It is.”

Her movements paused, thoughtfulness passing over her face till she looked up at him, her lips curved into a pleased smile. He swallowed and she said, “You couldn’t handle it.”  Then she returned to the diaper bag, the picture of patience as she waited for his response.

He said nothing, caught between her words and her look, till the only thing he could say became quite obvious. He swayed closer to her. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t.”

Her head lifted slowly, car keys hanging loosely from her fingers, threatening to fall straight back into the diaper bag again. He held his breath as she looked at him, her green eyes flickering over his face, tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Her hand lifted, resting on his chest, her eyes fluttering as she leaned close, so close – his eyes closed, head tilted, heart racing—

Someone grasped his collar, yanking hard, a babbling voice filling his ears.

Emma jerked back, color once more flooding her face, and said very quickly, “I’ll take him again, thank you. My car is this way, I’ll give you a lift still, condition or not.” She accepted Henry, who squealed at the sight of his mother. Their fingers brushed and lingered; she pulled away, turning on her heel and darting across the parking lot, her ponytail swinging as she went.

Killian lifted his fingers to his lips, disappointed. He sighed and followed her.

It was a quiet ride to the payphone. Emma was occupied with driving, her fingers dancing across the steering wheel in her agitation, her eyes flickering often to him and then back to the mirror as though she had only done so accidentally.

Killian himself couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound ridiculous or forced. He shouldn’t have bloody done that, but he couldn’t convince himself to feel guilty he could recall the look of focus on her face, the smile on her lips, so close he could have almost tasted them.

“Here we are,” she said as she pulled up to the curb, not once looking at him.

“Thank you, lass.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. When he was clear of the car, he heard the hum as her car shifted gears and he didn’t look over his shoulder, not wanting to see her speed away.

He climbed out of the car, slipping his wallet out of his pocket for the phone, shaking his head as he counted out the change. His brother’s phone number was muscle memory at this point, it hadn’t changed since Liam first got it years ago, but it still took ages for the numbers to come to the forefront of his mind. He shifted, sighing, holding the phone just away from him.

It rang. And rang.

His head ached. His brother would be furious.

He felt like little more than a child. He palmed his forehead, tugging on the errant strands of hair none too gently. “Hello?” Liam said groggily, a jaw breaking yawn escaping him. “Killian? You’re supposed to be home already, hope you didn’t get held up overnight.”

“Something like that,” he said simply, hesitating. Worse than his brother’s reprimand would be his disappoint or – even more terrible than both of those – his brother’s guilt. That Killian needed two jobs to keep them moving. That he was somehow not doing enough. He swallowed back his explanations.

Liam said suddenly, “This isn’t a situation where you need to say ‘pulp’ is it?”

 Laughter bubbled up. Pulp was the word they used if either was in a situation that required escaping, a strange word they had decided upon after leaving England so many years prior. “No, brother, I’m not being held against my will or in a dire situation. I just need a ride from the station downtown.”

Liam’s voice didn’t raise a pitch, but Killian could hear it in his voice all the same. When Liam was stern, it was all Killian could do not to flinch. “Did you get arrested?”

“Of course not,” Killian scoffed. “The train station, the one you picked me up from last time.”

“Oh. Right.” His brother made a disgruntled noise. “I’ll be there in a little while, try not to do anything ridiculous between now and then, please.”

He hung up before Killian could reply.

Killian groaned, returning the phone to its holder.

“Everything all right?”

“Bloody hell!” He whirled around to face Emma, who was lounging against the door of her bug, hands tucked into the pocket of her sweater. She was trying very hard to seem casual, but her features were pinched and uncomfortable, as though waiting for a friend was too foreign to translate.

Given what he knew of her, it probably was.

“Sorry? Um, I thought I would wait with you, you know, in case anybody decided to rob you.”

“Do you secretly know karate?”

“Perhaps. I did spend a year in prison, I could have learned a lot of things.” Startled by her admission, Emma stopped speaking, peeking inside the car at Henry. Once more, he had fallen asleep, snuggled beneath a blue blanket to ward off the chill from the open window. Emma’s averted gaze gave him time to fix his own look of surprise.

It didn’t, however, give him time to hold his tongue and develop some tact. “You were in prison?” Killian asked.

She looked at him quickly then away. “Um, yeah, almost two years ago.”

He did quick math in his head, coming to an unexpected conclusion. Henry snoozed in the car, unaware of the conversation occurring outside the car, and Killian’s eyes darted to him briefly before back to her. The tension in her shifted in that split second, replaced with icy indifference and a mile-high wall, a crease in the corner of her eyes that wasn’t from laughter or happiness.

“And Henry’s father--?” He asked, more confused than ever by her origins. He knew she was an orphan, one recognized another even if she hadn’t told him, and he knew there was no father. Not a name, or a date, or a picture, or a smile, or a comment. Nothing to suggest the father was anything more than a genetic donor.

“He’s…” Emma looked at Henry again, as though afraid he would hear her, and then said sharply, “Why do you think I was even in prison? It certainly wasn’t my decision.” Her eyes were still wary, still cold, but she wasn’t marching away yet.

“Well, I don’t think anyone chooses to go to prison,” he said kindly.

“Hm. True. But in this case, I didn’t deserve it. At least, not for that.” There was definitely a story there, but he didn’t wish to push it. Not today, when some lines had already been nearly crossed, not when he wasn’t entirely sure about how to feel about the revelation yet.

Did it change how he saw her?

He tilted his head, studying her, but couldn’t feel or see anything different.

“Well, it happens to the best of us,” he said.

Emma blinked.

He continued, on a slightly different topic. “I don’t suppose your time in prison taught you how to sneak up on people?”

“Maybe,” she said cautiously.

“That explains it. I hadn’t even heard you get out of the car, actually, I was quite sure you had driven away already.”

“Well, you were a little preoccupied with something else.” Emma inclined her head to the phone. “Is everything alright? It sounded… tense.”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “My brother is a touch grouchy when awoken, even by his alarm clock, and he’s not entirely pleased about making the trip over here.”

“How far of a drive is it?”

He did some more quick math – it was the most use he had gotten out of it since he left school. A slight exaggeration, given he used it when doing tours in the morning. “About an hour.”

“Altogether or…?”

“Each way.”

Her mouth opened, shock on her face. “You… were waiting out here an hour for your brother to pick you up last time? Why didn’t you say anything? I would have taken you somewhere to stay warm!” As if summoned by her words, a brisk wind blew through them, sending her ponytail swaying and making him shiver in his thin sweater.

“We weren’t exactly friends, love.”

She frowned, the look ruined by the shiver that suddenly spread through her. Her teeth were chattering, even, and he realized with a start that his were too. How long had that been happening?

“You and Henry should get home, I’d be an awful sort of person to keep you both out here in the cold.”

Emma shot him a critical look. “And leave you here in the cold with that ridiculous sweater? You’re better off with the leather one, really.”

“Next time,” he promised.

“There won’t be another time.”

“You’re accepting the challenge then?” He beamed, pleased at the smile on her face.

“Uh, obviously.” She pushed off the bug, pulling out her keys. “Come on, we can at least have the heater on while we wait – and don’t ask, I’m not going. I’d be an awful sort of person if I let you freeze to death,” she said, trying to mimic his accent.

“I’ve been to Scotland in the winter,” he protested, but when she walked around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, her engine groaning into existence, he couldn’t help following her.

It took her car a little while to warm up, but soon it was toasty and he could remove his fingers from his pockets, their previous conversation and actions lingering in the air around them, until he finally worked up the courage to ask her whether she had yet seen a newly released movie. Before long, they were debating on the beaches of the east coast versus that of the west, discussing the latest Harry Potter book, and then deciding on which sights he thought she would enjoy in Europe.

And, before he knew it, the hour was up, and they were standing in the cold again. The car was left on this time, because Liam would be showing up any minute and they would both be leaving, and Emma rocked on her heels, standing near the window where Henry slept still.

He noticed she didn’t often wander far, not even to inspect a noise in a bush nearby like Killian had.

“Is that him?” She asked, squinting at the headlights of an upcoming car as she had for the past four cars. He lifted his eyes from his cast, lifting his usable hand to block out the lights, and straightened as he made out his brother’s irritated countenance.

“Aye, that’s him.” Then, because he didn’t want his brother to turn his opinions on Emma, he said very quickly, “Well, I thank you for keeping me warm while I waited, lass.”

Confused, she stared at him and he inclined his head thankfully. Realizing what he wanted, she did exactly the opposite of what he wanted, instead stepping away from the car just enough to stand closer, as though sensing the unease in his expression.

He sighed, deciding not to waste energy on sending her away when she was quite content with doing whatever she wanted, in this the case opposite, and instead straightened more, preparing to face his doom.

Liam didn’t disappoint. No sooner had his car come to a stop, the engine also left on, thank you, then he launched into a tirade about responsibility. Killian winced at each word, closing his eyes, feeling worse by the second, when, abruptly, as though a spout being turned off, his brother stopped speaking.

He opened his eyes, surprised to see that his brother was looking between him and Emma with dark suspicious.

“Who is this?” Liam asked stiffly. There were shadows beneath his eyes that made Killian feel guilty for waking him up, though he knew those weren’t from this instance at all, but long days at work followed by equally long, unpaid overtime.

“This is…” He started, but was cut off.

“I’m Emma Swan. I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Emma said. He was somewhat surprised to find that the tone of her voice was quite unlike the one he used with him, even when they had first met. It was feigned lightness and a smile on her face that wasn’t comforting.

“I haven’t heard anything about you,” Liam said bluntly, though recognition was flashing through his eyes. No, Killian hadn’t told his brother about the lass with the golden hair and bewitching, elusive smiles, but he had acting strange and quiet. Enough that his brother could dismiss his falsehood of tiredness and form his own theory – and Liam wasn’t pleased with it either.

If Emma’s smile was disconcerting, his brother’s return one was even worse.

He glanced between the two, very uncomfortable by their battle ready stances, knowing that both were locked in a stare down that seemed to have no end in sight.

Then a cry pierced the air, startling them all, and their gazes swiveled to the car, where Henry cried for the mother he couldn’t see or feel. Emma blinked, all other emotion gone except for the razor sharp focus on her son, and turned her back to both of them, opening the car door to see what he needed.

Killian looked back at Liam. His brother was confused, his face red from either the cold or suppressed annoyance, and then inclined his head for the car. “Come along, brother, we’ll be able to get some sleep before the night is over.”

“Aye. Just a moment,” he said, holding up a finger. Killian approached Emma, standing off to the side, and cleared his throat quietly till she looked up at him. “I’ll be heading off, lass. Thank you again and apologies for… him.”

She caught his arm before he could get too far. Gone were the walls and the icy indifference, replaced instead with determination and fear. Her cheeks were pink, not from the cold, he realized after a moment of her hand lingering while she figured out how to form words.

“Umm, I was wondering, if, maybe, you’d like to go to the park with me. With me and Henry. Tomorrow? And then I could drive you home or you could catch the train or… something,” she said finally, lifting her eyes to his face, the flush on her face growing. Most telling of all was the smile on her face, hesitant to bloom, waiting for his response.

“Aye. I’d like that,” he replied, tilting his head.  

“Okay.” The smile that spread across her face made a jolt run through him.

This time, he was the one climbing into a car and leaving, seeing her form grow smaller and smaller as they pulled away, a pleased, dazed grin on his lips.


End file.
